Spring is here, bringing early camping season with it. Fresh air, kayaking, arts and crafts, and of course, writing. That's right, it's time for the first round of Camp NaNo.
This year I've returned to YA with a Sci-Fi offering. One day down and 2200 word in and my story is taking shape. Would you like a sneak peek? Here it is, Chapter One of what is currently being called S.A.M.
Remember, this is first draft, unedited and still very much in the works. Hope you enjoy it. ;-)
CHAPTER 1
The
machine clumped and whirred down the hallway in front of me. Dull gray with
‘S.A.M. 15’ stenciled in red across its vaguely humanoid shape. Long, thin
metal arms and legs squeaked, crying out for oil long overdue.
I ran up behind it, jumping on
its back and wrapping my arm around its neck in a headlock.
It
stopped, bending over under my weight with a screech. The cylindrical head
rotated to face me. A shutter snapped closed over blue eyes, a camera taking my
picture and running it through facial recognition software.
“Good morning, Isaiah. Did you
finish the history assignment for today?” S.A.M.’s computerized voice chopped
the words, pausing at random intervals. I released my hold. With another
screech he stood.
“Nah, I’ll do it during study
hall. Plenty of time to get it done.” Around us the student body of Asimov Senior
High flooded the halls, pushing and shoving to reach their next class on time.
S.A.M.
continued his clunky progress toward our math class. I slowed down, matching
his stride. It was difficult to do, given his erratic movements. Sudden bursts
of speed followed by a slow couple of steps, bringing him to a near crawl. I
was used to it, though. We’d been best friends since first grade.
“Why do you always put off
assignments to the last minute?”
I shrugged. Human ideas and
emotions were impossible to convey to a machine, even one as highly
sophisticated as S.A.M. Things like slacking off and procrastination didn’t
register in his limited human experience. When he was given an assignment or
command, he took it to heart and completed the directive before anyone finished
explaining it to him. Not needing to go to the library or internet to look
information up made research easy for him. S.A.M would close his eyes and pull
up every article related to the project in seconds, processing them all in a
fraction of the time it took normal kids to start the research.
One point in favor of being a
machine.
S.A.M.
was a Self-Aware Machine. Scientists spent years perfecting Artificial Intelligence
resulting in S.A.M. Roughly fifty existed, scattered throughout the country in
different environments to see how they learn and adapt. My S.A.M. was
designated number 15. Each one knew they were a machine, something the
scientists hoped to eliminate in future models.
“How
do you hope to graduate if you do not complete the assignments given?”
“Don’t
worry about me, bro. I always finish everything on time. Haven’t missed an
assignment yet.” We reached Mr. Poplachek’s calculus class. Most of our classmates
were already in their seats. I slid into mine behind S.A.M. and pulled out my
book.
“Hey,
Ice. Check it out.” I turned in my chair to face Ned the Nerd. His smirk
disappeared under my glare. “Sorry. Isaiah. Look at this.” He shoved his
graphing calculator at me. I kept glaring at him, making him squirm, as I
grabbed the calculator from his hand.
One
of those stupid internet memes looked back up at me from the screen.
“Le
Trollface? That’s the best you can do?” I flung the calculator back at him. It
spun across his desk and he caught it before it tipped over onto the ground. I
hoped it would fall and smash. Serve him right for calling me ‘Ice.’
“Careful.
This is my second graphing calculator. Mom won’t buy me another if I crack this
one open.” Ned cradled the calculator in his hands. A couple button clicks and
the Trollface meme he had programmed changed to a naked lady. He held it back
up for my approval.
“Better.
Might want to work on getting a more realistic pic on there. Digital boobs are
the only ones you’re likely to see in this lifetime.”
Ned
flipped the calculator back towards him. “Don’t hate because you don’t have the
skills.”
“Skills.
Right,” I snorted. Behind his thick glasses, Ned rolled his eyes.
In
the front of the classroom, Mr. Poplachek cleared his throat, bringing the
class to order. Ned cleared out his calculator, prepared to run any equation
thrown at us.
“Nerd,”
I said under my breath. Ned didn’t acknowledge my insult, his eyes trained on
the teacher.
Truth
was, we were all nerds. You didn’t attend Asimov High, Robotics War Champions
for the last twenty years, without loving math and science. It was in our
blood. The only thing that excited any of us more than a well-functioning
machine was a fellow Nerd Girl. They were a rarity around Asimov, treated like
royalty and never in need of a lab partner.
With
the class quieted down, Mr. Poplachek started in on his morning lecture. “As
many of you know, the Robotics War Championships will be kicking off in a few
weeks. As one of the team coaches, it’s up to me to make sure all our entries
follow the rules and operate correctly. For most of you, this just means
approving changes made to your entries last year. For others joining us for the
first time this year or whose entries last year were,” Mr. Poplachek paused and
coughed before continuing, “unrepairable, you will need to start from scratch.
It is my hope most, if not all, of you have already begun your builds.”
The
class broke out into excited babbling. Robotics War was what we lived for,
creating the perfect machine to annihilate all others. One or two students
stared at their desks, avoiding the teacher’s gaze.
“Amateurs,”
I muttered, indicating our unprepared classmates when S.A.M. spun his head
around to face me. “And can you not do that? It’s creepy.”
“My
apologies.” S.A.M. twisted his shoulders to line up with his head. “Better?”
“A
little. Less owlish, anyway.”
Ned
leaned in to join our conversation. “What have you guys cooked up for this
year? Same old with new twists or all new redesign?”
“I have created something new,” S.A.M. said. “I
was told my Exterminator lacked pizzazz.” Lacking pizzazz was an
understatement. He had entered the competition the year before with what
amounted to a tank. Heavily armored to resist attack, the thing weighed nearly
a ton. S.A.M. made it all the way to the quarter-finals by running over his
opponents, crushing them flat. He got taken out finally by a robot on stilts.
Turns out S.A.M.’s machine had a weak spot on the top where the control panel
was situated. Guess he never expected anyone to build a robot with enough
clearance to reach up there.
Mr.
Poplachek clapped his hands, gathering our attention once again to him. “Since
your entries will counted as half your final grade in all your classes with the
exception of English and History, we will be devoting part of our class time
each day to your projects. Questions on design and build can be addressed the
first fifteen minutes every day until they’re due. Testing and troubleshooting
can also be done when you reach that stage. The only thing you will not be
permitted to do is fight against one another. Battling will be reserved for the
ring only.”
A
mixture of cheering and groans arose. I was a cheerer. Having time during class
devoted to getting our robots ready would help improve our chances. With
everyone’s input, flaws in design stood a better chance of being noticed and
fixed before we pitted them against each other. The better the robots, the
cooler the fight.
The
boo-ers weren’t upset about the robots taking up class time. They were upset we
couldn’t test out their fighting ability early. Probably for the best since
flame-throwers and miniature chainsaws were generally implemented at least once
a year. Not something I wanted attacking my leg if the operator lost control or
never possessed it in the first place.
“I’ll
allow you the rest of today’s class to discuss your robots and ask any
questions you might have going into this. Remember, you’re allowed to work in
teams up to four people if you wish.” I caught Ned rolling his eyes. No one
worked in teams. Every student at Asimov wanted to claim the glory for themselves.
Having complete control over the design and build meant if you won, you won on
your own. Also, if you failed, you had no one else to blame. Win or lose, it
all came down to you.
Everyone
clumped their desks into groups to talk about ideas. Ned scooted his chair over
to me and S.A.M. spun his torso around to face us.
“Check
this out, guys.” Ned unfolded a sheet of paper covered in sketches and notes. “I’ve
worked out some of the bugs from last year and added on a few secret weapons.
This year is all about Ned Norbert and Lady Nebula destroying the competition.”
S.A.M.
blinked his eyes, analyzing Ned’s diagrams and calculations.
“You
better not be working out a way to beat me, Metal Head.” Ned covered part of
his plans and glowered at S.A.M. Hiding his drawings wouldn’t do anything. One
click and S.A.M. had all the information stored up in his brain.
“Why
would I do that?”
“Because
you’re a cheat. Bad enough you’re a walking computer without exploiting the
weaknesses in everyone else’s design.”
“I
am not a cheat. I wish only to help. If you look at the butane lighter attached
underneath, you will discover it’s too close to the rear tires. Should you make
use of it during a match, the tires would melt and your robot disabled.”
Glancing
back and forth between S.A.M. and his design plans, Ned’s face went from
indignant outrage to annoyance.
“Dammit.
The tin can’s right. At least right enough I don’t want to risk it.” Ned
slammed his palms against the desk. He studied his plans, brow furrowed as he
worked out a new solution.
S.A.M.
clicked a hand down on the edge of the paper. “If I may?” He started pulling
the page towards himself until Ned yanked it back.
“No.
I don’t need your help. I can figure this out on my own.”
S.A.M.
raised and lowered his shoulders, a jerky imitation of our own ‘Whatever.’ He
let Ned stew over the design flaw and turned his attention to me. “Have you
finished your plans?”
“Yeah.
I’m just making a few changes to The Metal Cannibal. He didn’t do bad last
year, but his jaw could have been stronger. Had trouble chomping down on some
of those thicker gauge metals.”
“Like
The Exterminator?”
“Exactly
like The Exterminator.” S.A.M.’s beast was responsible for my elimination last
year. Cannibal couldn’t crunch through the thick exterior and Exterminator took
me out with no problem. Being a friend, S.A.M. only disabled my bot rather than
run over it and render it completely useless.
Never
let it be said machines don’t make good friends. Even if they do still manage
to destroy you.
“What
about you? What ‘pizzazz’ are you adding to Exterminator?”
S.A.M.
spun to face forward and pulled his plans out of his bag. Turning back to me,
he laid the paper on top of Ned’s.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,
Ned. Isaiah wished to see my blue prints for this year. You are welcome to look
as well.”
“No,
thanks.” Ned yanked his plans out from underneath and folded them up.
With
Ned back at his desk in a huff, me and S.A.M. were free to look over plans for
Exterminator.
At
first glance I didn’t notice anything different from last year’s model. Block
motor encased in steel. It was a thirty-eight pound metal brick, capable of
flattening lighter, quicker bots in a single roll. Its one functioning weapon
was a sharpened spike used to pierce thinner metal.
In
fresher ink, artwork had been drawn on the side. A large bug in a red crossed
out circle.
“Do
you like my new pizzazz?” Other than the new picture, I didn’t see anything
different about his plans.
“Uh,
well. The bug’s cool.”
“What
do you think about the new weapon?”
“Huh?”
I peered closer and noticed the slight change to the spike. “It swings up and
down now?”
“Yes.
After Terminator was defeated by a competitor I was unable to hit, I decided I
needed a way to strike above. Do you think it will work?”
I
checked his calculations. The changes allowed the spike to turn ninety-degrees
and thrust upwards, effectively punching through any metal on the underside of
taller bots.
“As
long as the other bot clears the top of Exterminator.”
He
took the plans back and put them into his bag. “The smaller ones I will roll
over.”
“So,
no change there.”
S.A.M.
whirred, his head shaking. At least I knew what I was up against. Cannibal
would need an additional weapon if I hoped to advance. With this being senior
year and my last shot at the championship title, I wanted to win more than
anything.
